


'Twas the Day After Christmas

by Jael



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: CCSS2016, CaptainCanary Secret Santa, Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Humor, Time Dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jael/pseuds/Jael
Summary: When Team Legends gets a break for Christmas, certain truths might be revealed. (Or maybe everyone already knew them...)Written for the CaptainCanary Secret Santa for captaincanary3.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captaincanary3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincanary3/gifts).



> Written for captaincanary3 for the 2016 CaptainCanary Secret Santa. Happy holidays!
> 
> Prompt: captain canary telling everyone that they're together but everyone already knows. Want: Rip and Laurel be alive, Rip didn't know, Time Dad
> 
> For the purposes of this story, Len almost died (but didn't) at the Oculus and the original Waverider crew is still there.

"Len..."

"Mmhph." How annoying. Not only has the warm, pliant body next to him moved away, now someone is tugging at the covers. And Nickel City in December is _not_ the warmest place in the world.

"We need to get moving, Snart. Come on. This has been fun but … wakey, wakey."

It _was_ fun. Best Christmas in a long, long time. He feels the edges of his mouth curl up in a smile, maybe a bit of a smirk, at the memories, and wonders if he can persuade the woman outside the bed to get back into it...

"I'll tickle..."

Now, that's fighting dirty. He opens one eye and mock-scowls at Sara Lance as she stands at the edge of the bed, an expression that quickly changes into pure appreciation. She's wearing nothing but the white gold snowflake pendant he'd given her last night, standing there with her mussed golden hair cascading around her shoulders.

"We're going to be late," she tells him, smirking at the look on his face. "We still need to check out of the hotel and stop at that shop. I'm getting in the shower. You might want to get in gear."

He doesn't move. "So we're late. What are they going to do, leave without us?" He reaches out to snake a hand around her hip, but she dances backward.

"That happened once before, remember? And while the company...and the recreation...would be much better, I don't really want to be marooned in 2010 Nickel City."

With a wink and a grin, she turns and saunters off toward the hotel room's bathroom, giving him quite a nice eyeful as she goes. He props himself up on an elbow to appreciate it.

Rip had directed the Waverider here to consult some records and possibly track down a certain local historian with obscure knowledge of a past identity of Savage's. But due to some time fluctuations, they'd emerged from the Temporal Zone only to find out it was the afternoon of Christmas Eve 2010 and the team, which had not had any non-shipboard down time in quite a while, was suddenly ready to commit mutiny over the opportunity to build snowmen and drink eggnog.

None of them had family there. There weren't many businesses open. No one seemed to care. The captain gave them 48 hours and most of them were off the ship before he finished threatening them to be back on time.

Stein had grumbled moderately (and mostly good-naturedly) about how Hanukkah had already passed that year, but allowed himself to be dragged along. The entire team (minus Rip, who'd insisted on staying with the ship) had found a restaurant open on Christmas Eve, indulged in a full meal complete with dessert and drinks, tipped the server a ridiculous amount (thanks to currency by Gideon) and vanished again, a bizarre assortment of Christmas elves.

Ray, seeing that the downtown ice skating rink was still open, insisted on renting skates. Kendra and Jax had joined him, with the odd duo of Stein and Mick trailing along behind them. In the chaos that ensued, Sara and Len had vanished.

Sara had taken his hand as soon as they were past the group's view and they'd walked along in the gently falling snow, an incongruous moment of peace in the insanity that generally made up their lives. At a small downtown plaza, she'd gone into a bookstore, giving him a few moments to dart into a jewelry shop to pick up the necklace he'd seen in the window. Then they'd decided to try the hotel next door. There'd been a cancellation: a king suite open for the next two nights.

They haven't left since.

Yawning and stretching—he's long past the issue of showing his scars where Sara is concerned—he rises, takes in the clothing scattered around the room and chuckles...and then pads, smiling, toward the bathroom, from which he can hear the sound of the shower.

They're late.

* * *

"I think it's time to tell them."

They're on the way back to the Waverider, which is parked in the lot of an abandoned factory just outside the city. The cab driver had only been willing to get them so close, so they're walking the rest of the way. The snow has stopped and the day is clear and very, very cold, the snow crunching underfoot and their breath visible in the air.

"Tell them..."

"About us." She glances at him. "That we're...together."

"Hmmmm."

"You honestly don't think they think something's up? Given that we immediately vanished after dinner? Do you really think anyone believes we've been playing cards this entire time?" She smirks at him as she steps carefully over a patch of ice.

"They probably think I tried to steal something and got caught. Or that you assaulted some asshat and got arrested."

"As if." She gives him a sidelong look. "Really. I think we should. We'll get less speculation that way. But if you don't agree..."

She's right. Of course she is. But putting it in words to the team makes this...real...on a level he's just a trifle unnerved by.

"Sure," he says abruptly. "Let's do it."

The Waverider flickers into view as they approach, and it's Ray who's standing guard in the entryway, watching for them. The scientist looks a trifle tired and Leonard notes the shadows under his eyes with amusement.

"Hi, guys," he greets them, sounding somewhat less than his usual ebullient self. "You're late."

"Under the weather, Raymond?" Leonard stops to knock the snow from his boots; Sara just pulls hers off. Gideon gets pissy about messy hallways.

The other man shrugs. "We went back to the ship after Jax turned his ankle skating—he's fine—but then we decided to see if we could help out the Nickel City homeless shelter with Christmas morning yesterday. Took the kids presents and stuff and helped serve food."

That's so very... "How Boy Scout of you. And you talked Mick into that?"

"Hey, it wasn't even hard. But in return, he dragged us out drinking last night. Not my brightest move."

"Mick drink you under the table?" Sara's voice is teasing, as it should be. She knows perfectly well she can do the same to Mick.

"No. Kendra. You wouldn't think you could build up an alcohol tolerance that extends over a number of lifetimes, but it seems like she has." He perks up. "Hey. Did you get _it_?"

Sara brandishes the bag in her left hand and Ray grins...then seems to focus on Sara's right hand, which is still linked with Leonard's.

"Oh," he says with a yawn. "Are we allowed to realize that you're together now? Cool."

Leonard stares at him. Sara bursts out laughing. Ray looks a bit sheepish.

"I guess I thought it was, uh, common knowledge," he says. "I mean...I guess you could have been vanishing all these times to just play cards but you both looked a bit too smug and happy and...I'm going to shut up now."

Leonard continues to stare. Sara smirks. "Good idea," she tells Ray as they start down the corridor. "Even if it's true."

* * *

Mick laughs at their attempted confession. "Thought this might happen ever since St. Roch," he tells them when they find him in the galley, drinking the rest of Ray's eggnog. "I've known this idiot since he was 14. Think I can tell when he's interested in someone. Just didn't know if Blondie would give him the time of day, let alone..."

"Mick..."

"And that first day after, he looked like the cat who ate..."

" _ **Mick**_!"

* * *

Kendra actually lets them twist in the wind briefly, looking at them both with wide, horrified eyes before slipping and letting out a giggle.

"I told you you were starting to sound like Snart," she tells Sara. "Couples do that, you know."

"Be nice, Big Bird. And that was long before the start of this."

"Sara...no, it wasn't."

* * *

Stein and Jax are together in the engine room, squabbling good-naturedly about something to do with the Waverider's systems. Sara gets about two words out when Stein makes a rather embarrassing assumption about what, precisely, they're confessing, and then they have to wait for Jax to stop laughing about the crook and assassin's horrified reactions to the presumption of impending parenthood.

Fortunately for Stein, who's red-faced throughout the ordeal, they swear Jax to secrecy about the whole humiliating thing.

* * *

"Well, that was...not what I expected," Sara admits as they head for Rip's study, the captain being the last person on their mental list.

"Here you wanted to avoid speculation, and it turns out they were far past that." Leonard shakes his head. "Wouldn't have given them the credit."

"Did we really act like that even before I went to your room that night?" Sara glances at him, then away, a smile playing on her lips. "Well. Maybe we did. Hey," she says, nudging him a little. "Look. Betcha Ray was responsible."

There's mistletoe hanging over their heads, right there in the entryway. He rolls his eyes, but obligingly turns to Sara, who takes a step closer, leaning in as he bends to touch his lips to hers...

"What the... bloody hell."

Rip Hunter is blinking at them from the door of his study. As they pull away from each other, the captain throws his hands up in the air and heads back into the room.

"Well," Sara sighs, with a shake of her head. "At least we surprised _someone_."

Leonard gives a bark of laughter, and they both head for the study, to see Rip standing behind his desk and looking put-upon.

"How long has this been going on?" he asks them abruptly.

"Not long after the Oculus," Sara tells him a trifle sharply. "Can you blame us, given what might have happened?"

Even Len can't suppress a shudder at the how close that escape had been. He still dreams about blue light, some days.

"And then Laurel..." she says, voice trailing off. "Well. And Leonard helped me save her. You rethink things, sometimes. Realize what's important."

Rip doesn't bother trying to argue either point. He leans on his desk, emitting a hefty sigh, then scrubs a hand over his face. "I do trust you will try to remain professional about this? As professional as you can be?"

They both give him long-suffering looks...which he returns in kind. "Right, then. We'll be leaving shortly. Inform the others, please. And tell Mr. Rory, no more eggnog on the bridge."

* * *

"That was not very honest, Captain Hunter." Gideon sounds disapproving.

"Yes, well, have to keep a few steps ahead of this lot somehow, don't I?" Every sign of disapproval wiped from his face and a slight smile replacing it, he turns back to his bookshelves, reshelving the volume in his hands. "And frankly, Mr. Snart thrives on my disapproval. I daresay it may move him to stick with the relationship despite his...habitual caution, shall we say. They're good for each other. Grounding.

He pauses. "And Gideon, I must thank you. It was a good idea to stop here. Festive, rather. I hadn't thought about how the lack of holidays and seasonal occurrences might be affecting those not raised to be Time Masters. I think perhaps this has done them some good.

"Now...on to our next time and place."

"Actually, captain, I do believe Ms. Lance and Mr. Snart left something on your desk."

There is a package sitting there, a small, square box wrapped in shiny red paper with a green bow on it. He stares a moment, then chuckles at the absurdity of it, moving to neatly remove the paper, open the box and remove... a mug.

"No. 1 Time Dad," it informs him, in blue lettering on a white background, its sheer simplicity speaking of quick production, say, that of a 24-hour shop with printing capabilities, the sort that may be able to produce a Christmas gift on very short notice.

The card taped to the box bears the signatures of every member of this team, from Ray Palmer's precise printing to Martin Stein's professorial hieroglyphics to the angular "Snart" and even Mick Rory's casual scrawl. He stares at it a moment, then looks back to the mug. It's absurd and impractical and...and...

Rip Hunter has historically precious artifacts in his study, items lost to time, pieces of art historians would give their right arms to inspect. While he'll never admit it, the mug that gets placed, just so, on his desk is more precious to him than any of them.

And years later, after all the trials and tribulations and losses and victories, after that team helps him get his wife and son back, he'll still look at that mug—the handle long since broken and glued back on, the lettering fading at the edges—and smile.


End file.
